


tonight is dying on its own

by EarlofShaftsberg



Category: NaPolA | Before the Fall (2004)
Genre: (very bad boxing), Boxing, M/M, a very short giggly blowjob, don't be fooled by the giggles though these boys are still very Sad, handjobs, oh and they're also a bit drunk, sadboys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 14:52:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11315703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarlofShaftsberg/pseuds/EarlofShaftsberg
Summary: Albrecht was the one splayed on the ring’s floor now, clinging onto Friedrich’s broad shoulders as they moved together. He tried to imagine what they looked like, the two of them seeking release in unabashed unison, on a stage built for a sole purpose: two boys walk in, only one walks out whole.Or, Albrecht confronts Friedrich in his father's boxing ring after everyone leaves.





	tonight is dying on its own

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there, staring at the dining room table and failing to get his breath under control. The table was still fully set, and Albrecht had the urge to flip it over, send everything from the cake to the disgustingly expensive porcelain plates flying across the room, staining every surface until the place looked as demolished as his insides felt. He took a step towards it, almost certain he was going to do just that, but surprised himself by wrapping his fingers around an unfinished bottle of wine. He shoved the opening into his mouth, a painful _clang_ vibrating inside his skull as teeth collided with glass. His ear still rang from where Friedrich had landed his final blow. He took a nauseatingly big chug. Then he took another one. He felt the dark red liquid drip down his neck and stain his white undershirt, all the way down to the suspenders he had left hanging off his trousers.

Soon enough, all the wine left on the table was gone. Albrecht held a hand to his mouth, trying to keep it all down; the nausea, the alcohol, the shaking breath -- the kind that precedes a sob. He tried to keep his thoughts at bay as well, and where usually he had trouble controlling them at times like these, he found that they no longer felt like gaping stab wounds but more like paper cuts he could almost disregard. 

Maybe his father had had the right idea for once. Alcohol did seem to solve one of Albrecht’s many problems. Albeit temporarily.

Before he could decide what sort of mindless form of rebellion to engage himself in next, he heard the basement door open and watched, frozen in place, as a bunch of middle-aged men stumbled up the steps, looking and sounding drunker than he was. They seemed to be arguing about automobile keys. The party wasn’t over, one of them proclaimed, they had other places to be yet. _And other children to antagonize,_ Albrecht thought bitterly.

His father, ever the ringleader, walked ahead of them. He paid Albrecht no mind as he passed him in the hallway. None of them did.

Friedrich wasn’t with them, Albrecht realized as the front door closed with a loud smash. Had he even left the basement? As soon as he regained control of his feet, Albrecht pointed them back to where they stomped away from earlier. 

An engine roared from somewhere far, far away.

As soon as he stepped into the basement, he wished he hadn’t. If Friedrich was there, Albrecht definitely didn’t want to face him. Especially not in his present state. His body seemed to be feeling mutinous towards his brain, however, so it didn’t really matter what he wanted to do. 

Vaguely aware of the door behind him shutting with a satisfying click, Albrecht allowed his vision to readjust to the smoky redness of the room. It felt like a gas chamber. Before he had time to chastise himself over that tasteless comparison, his eyes found their mark.

Friedrich. 

He was there alright, still inside the boxing ring, his back to the door. He was slumped in the left corner, head slightly askew where he had leaned it on one of the ropes. His entire posture reeked of misery. It made Albrecht want to hit him. He clapped a hand over his mouth again, this time to stop a surge of a different kind of nauseating feeling from pouring out. That particular problem didn’t rank very high on his list of priorities right then.

Albrecht announced his presence by tugging harshly at the rope holding most of Friedrich’s weight, and pushing into the ring in one swift movement. The pleasure he took from the way Friedrich’s head lolled painfully at the lack of support was a vicious one. 

After what must have been a pretty disorienting second, Friedrich’s hazy eyes traveled all over Albrecht’s rigid form until they finally found his eyes. 

“Albrecht,” he croaked.

“Get up.”

“Albrecht, I’m so sorry,” Friedrich tried again. His eyes were pleading. Albrecht crossed his arms, leveling him with an unforgiving stare. 

“I said get up,” he spat. “Let’s do this.” Before Friedrich could do anything but stare, Albrecht reached for two pairs of discarded boxing gloves and threw one in his confused face.

“Albrecht, don’t do this. I don’t want to fight.” Even as he said that, Friedrich was standing up. Albrecht felt an awful smile distort his features. He saw Friedrich flinch.

“That didn’t stop you from nearly knocking me out earlier, did it? Or from kicking at all those other boys until they bleed.” 

“That’s not fair,” Friedrich started, but Albrecht swung at him before he could find the rest of his words. He dodged the blow almost effortlessly, even in his somewhat inebriated state. Albrecht growled in frustration. Neither one of them had put their gloves on yet. Friedrich dropped the one he was holding, and reached for Albrecht’s arm. He intercepted the second hit, sloppy as it was. He kept his hand firmly closed at Albrecht’s wrist. 

“I’m sorry, Albrecht. I’m so sorry.” 

Why did he keep saying that? Albrecht didn’t want an apology. He didn’t want to talk at all. For once in his life, he just wanted to hurt. 

“Shut up,” he said through gritted teeth. “Shut up, Friedrich, before _I_ start saying things I really want to say,” He didn’t know what he wanted to say. Red wine and white rage had rendered his mind empty, and he wanted to cherish the feeling. He let his own gloves drop to the floor and used his free hand to claw at Friedrich’s vice-like grip on his wrist.

“I know, Albrecht,” Friedrich’s voice was hoarse and low, muffled by the palpable stillness around them. “You choose your words the way a fighter picks his punches,” he smiled at Albrecht’s useless flailing. “I keep waiting for you to deliver the final blow.”

A brand new wave of anger welled up in Albrecht’s veins at those words, and in an uncharacteristic strike of athletic genius, he used his position to elbow Friedrich in the chest. The grip on his hand was gone immediately.

“How dare you say that!” he said, voice shaking. “How dare you compare what you... I’m not like you, Friedrich, I don’t hurt people just to get a few claps on my back!” 

Friedrich’s back was currently convulsing as he stayed doubled over, eyes looking up at Albrecht in disbelief. Albrecht felt himself step forward.

“You’re just like them, you know. A big, mindless brute. A perfect little soldier. How soon, do you think, until you become a murderer too?” Albrecht spat the words with such venom that Friedrich took an unconscious step back. _He has never seen me like this,_ Albrecht realized. _Alright then, let’s give him a spectacle. Earn ourselves a clap on the back._

“You’ve thought about it, haven’t you? Daydreamed about getting to deliver the real final blow, the definitive shot. Does it make you feel powerful, Friedrich? Do you itch to get your hands on a real weapon, or do you like working with your hands too much? I can’t see the army having a need for elite boxers on the field. Maybe you were born for the wrong war. But God, imagine if you had a --”

“Stop,” Friedrich said, sounding shocked and miserable. “Please. Albrecht.” He tried to reach for him again, but Albrecht shoved his hand away.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is this what you meant by the final blow? I’m just getting started.” They were face-to-face now, and although the height-difference was not in Albrecht’s favor, Friedrich was the one doing the cowering. “Tell me, are my words really so cruel that they hurt like a sucker punch?”

Friedrich closed his eyes at that, but didn’t move away. 

He mouthed, “More.”

“What was that?”

“More, Albrecht. They hurt me more.” He emphasized the _me_ in a way that made Albrecht’s anger flicker, as if it was suddenly uncertain whether to flare up and burn everything to the ground, or extinguish itself entirely. 

He moved before either could happen, pushing at Friedrich’s shoulder with a closed fist. Friedrich was ready for him this time, but still staggered backwards. He pushed forward again, and then again, until he had Friedrich pinned between himself and the rope.

“You want me to stop talking? Fine, I’ll stop.” Albrecht tried to get at Friedrich’s sides, but all he managed to do was get a fistful of Friedrich’s undershirt. He tugged at it, stretching it down until it revealed one collarbone, then two. Friedrich went very still.

“You don’t want me to fight you, either?” Albrecht’s free hand punched into a strong abdomen. There’d been no force behind the blow this time; he was almost just knocking on it as if to check the quality of the surface. 

“No, _you_ don’t want to fight,” Friedrich corrected him. He seemed to be experiencing some trouble breathing. Albrecht could feel labored breaths make their way into his hair. “You never do. That’s what makes you... Makes it-- Aah--”

The rest of his sentence was bitten off, quite literally, by Albrecht, who had sunk his teeth into the exposed skin above Friedrich’s stretched neckline. 

Trying not to think too hard about what he was doing, Albrecht went to put his mouth over the peak of Friedrich’s collarbone, a few words escaping him along the way.

“What?” The word came out of Friedrich like a gasp.

“I said, where does that leave us then?” 

Albrecht didn’t look up as he said it. The anger and the wine had pushed him this far, but he knew his bravado would abandon him the second he saw his own fear reflected in Friedrich’s eyes. He stayed where he was; face framed between Friedrich’s neck and shoulder, body taut, waiting on an answer he knew would frighten him no matter what it was.

Apparently tequila-induced bravado had longer-lasting effects, or maybe it was just that Friedrich was braver than him after all, because nothing could have prepared Albrecht for the breath on his own neck, whispering, “You tell me.”

That was all it took. 

Albrecht could feel something inside him spring to life, summoned by those three words, and he was out of control; or maybe what he was experiencing _was_ control. Complete control over this thing that he had thought untameable -- not over his thoughts, or his emotions, or his words, he always found a way to bend those to his will -- but this unmistakable need, this urgency to touch, to taste, to _feel--_

\-- And suddenly his hands had a life of their own, and his teeth were sinking into every bit of exposed skin, and his ears were tuned to even the smallest reaction his actions provoked, and he couldn’t stop.

Friedrich seemed to have lost himself just as much, if not more. Where he had been all tension and controlled breathing, he was now limp and boneless, pulse erratic and hot wherever he and Albrecht touched.

Which was to say -- everywhere. Their chests were flush against each other, their arrhythmic breathing almost a dance, their hands on every area their mouths couldn’t quite reach. It wasn’t too long before their lips found each other, and Albrecht didn’t even have time to consider this as the last line he had always warned himself against crossing, because it didn’t _matter._ In this ring, in this room, red and dark as the belly of a beast, nothing mattered but the sensation of Friedrich’s hair and the way handfuls of it felt when he tugged at them as he bit his way further into Frierich’s mouth. 

The appearance of Friedrich’s tongue in Albrecht’s mouth made everything more intense; experimentally, Albrecht flicked it with his own and then had to steady himself with one hand on the rope because Friedrich’s knees seemed to be giving out underneath him. 

Albrecht let himself be pulled down, felt the whole ring shake underneath them as he let go of the ropes and crashed down onto Friedrich’s heaving body. The boxing ring kept shaking as he took Friedrich’s wrists and pinned them on either side of his head. Albrecht wasn’t sure who was affected by this action more; Friedrich, him, or the motion-sensitive ropes that caged them in.

After a minute or so, Albrecht broke another heated kiss in order to admire his work. He was on all fours in the middle of his father’s boxing ring. Friedrich was underneath him, his golden hair now a disarray of red and framing his head like some infernal halo. Friedrich’s eyes looked darker than he had ever seen them, fully black and slightly glossed-over in this crimson world. His lips looked redder than anything else in sight; they were plump and bitten and still moving slightly, chasing after the ghost of a kiss. They’d never looked this red. Not even when they were covered in blood. 

Friedrich and Albrecht’s shirts were a shock of white, quite an eyesore really, so Albrecht decided they had to go. He busied himself with Friedrich’s shirt first, and it was a while before he remembered to discard his own.

Friedrich straightened up to help him out of it, which resulted in their bare chests colliding and Albrecht squeezing his thighs tighter around Friedrich’s waist. They didn’t last upright very long after that, and fell back onto the ground in a tangle of limbs, hands slowly but daringly drifting towards the point where hips met hips. 

Albrecht was the one splayed on the ring’s floor now, clinging onto Friedrich’s broad shoulders as they moved together. He tried to imagine what they looked like, the two of them seeking release in unabashed unison, on a stage built for a sole purpose: two boys walk in, only one walks out whole.

Suddenly, just laying there wasn’t enough. Albrecht pushed Friedrich’s hands away from the path they were trailing down his abdomen, and sat up.

“Friedrich,” he breathed, and then cleared his throat. “Um, Friedrich, I need...”

Friedrich leaned back in again, nodding his head slightly as if he would accept anything Albrecht wanted to do. 

_He probably would,_ Albrecht realized with a jolt in his chest.

“No... Wait, stop,” Friedrich aborted his movements immediately, the hunger in his eyes making way for concern. Albrecht smiled at him and kissed the corner of his mouth, his heart fluttering as he felt a dimple form under his lips.

“Lie on your back for me,” he whispered into Friedrich’s mouth. At that, Friedrich’s eyes blackened again, and he obeyed, chest rising and falling in a rapidly increasing rhythm.

Albrecht sat back on his legs and gave himself a second to simply watch Friedrich breathe. Then, slowly, he got to work. 

He revisited one of the first love bites he had given Friedrich earlier, and then created another one to keep it company. Friedrich’s collarbone was littered with them; Albrecht might have gotten a bit carried away. He ran his fingers along every single one and then dropped his hands down to Friedrich’s navel. He worked his trousers open, unable to resist snapping the suspenders hanging on his side in the process. 

This didn’t earn him a laugh, as he had expected, but a low groan thick with frustration. It was the loudest noise either one of them had made all night. Albrecht, torn between amusement and arousal as he was, was beginning to realize that the time for foreplay was long over.

Unceremoniously, he pulled Friedrich’s trousers down to his knees, and only admired the way his cock was already glistening with pre-come for a fleeting second before promptly wrapping his mouth around the tip.

Friedrich’s entire body jolted up at the sensation, shock and pleasure evident all over his face; he hadn’t expected that. Feeling encouraged, Albrecht took the rest of him in his hand and started jerking him off in slow and precise movements. This part, at least, he was familiar with. 

Friedrich’s cock looked nothing like his own -- it was much thicker, for one -- but the machinery was the same. He replaced his mouth with a thumb and pressed lightly, causing another full-body spasm in the process, and circled the tip until he was rewarded with a low moan. 

Satisfied, Albrecht put his hand back to the base of Friedrich’s cock and maneuvered it to the side so he could lick a long strip along the length before taking more of him inside his mouth. He had never done this before, but living in close-quarters with adolescent boys his whole life meant that he’d had to sit through more than one exaggerated re-telling of their summer escapades. He never thought -- never _dared_ think -- that all that information would prove so useful. 

And yet, here he was. Albrecht Stein in all his glory; on his knees in his father’s basement, _in a boxing ring,_ sucking his best friend off with a vehemence he never even knew he possessed. He suppressed a laugh, careful not to make a choking noise. 

Friedrich noticed anyway. Albrecht saw him try to look down questioningly, and then shut his eyes almost instantly, overwhelmed at the sight. Albrecht pulled off completely because he could barely hold his giggles in anymore. 

“What is it?” asked Friedrich. He managed to lean up on one elbow this time, looking extremely tightly-wound but smiling at Albrecht all the same. “Did I do something?”

Albrecht laughed again. He felt light and drunk and like a hole was burning through the front of his trousers.

“No, Friedrich, you’re... perfect,” he tugged at him for emphasis. Friedrich’s elbow gave out and he slumped back down dramatically. “Just perfect. This situation though... I mean look at us. What do you think my father would say if he saw how we’re using his beloved boxing ring? Do you think he’d give Round One to me this time?” 

Friedrich groaned at that, covering his face with an arm to cover up his embarrassment and... Something else, if the brand new trickle of pre-come was anything to go by. Albrecht gaped.

“Does that turn you on, Friedrich? The fact that we’re doing this here, on your territory?” Friedrich keened and Albrecht felt a whole world of profanities bubble up in his throat. He didn’t manage to swallow them all back. “Fuck, it does, doesn’t it? Are you going to think about this every time you step inside a ring from now on? Every time you land a punch, every time you send someone, some _boy,_ plummeting to the ground? Will you remember how you laid on your back for me like this? How I took you apart with just one hand? How good it felt? For _both of us?_ ” 

Something began to tug at Albrecht’s chest at his own words, and he stomped down on it. He didn’t know where all these words were coming from, but he knew he wanted Friedrich to hear them. He tightened his hold and jerked him faster with one hand as he angled the rest of himself so as to hover over Friedrich’s frame, watching him fall apart under his touch.

Nuzzling his way into Friedrich’s neck, Albrecht whispered, “Will you think about the first time you felt my mouth on your cock, how you almost came from just that, and how much you wished you were _really_ inside me?” 

And that was it. Friedrich gave his most violent spasm yet, voice breaking between profanities, and made a mess of both his and Albrecht’s stomach. He rode out the aftershock, shivering, and Albrecht removed his hands from him, suddenly uncertain.

Just as he was about to sit up, a still-trembling palm found the tightness in his crotch and squeezed lightly. Albrecht made to move away, but Friedrich simply followed him until they were both sitting up. 

“Hey,” Friedrich said. “It’s alright, let me.” 

“I...” Albrecht felt a lot of things at the same time, much like he always did, but rarely were they all so in-conflict with each other. The most persistent feeling was the one that was throbbing between his legs, however, so he let Friedrich spread them slightly and cup at him with more confidence this time. “I... won’t take long.” He let out a shaky laugh. “I’ve been close since...”

“It’s alright,” Friedrich repeated calmly. He looked exhausted and happy. And still, always, his eyes were searching, taking Albrecht in as if he wanted to commit him to memory. Albrecht would never get used to that. He scooted backwards towards the corner of the ring where Friedrich had originally sat, leaning his head in the same way he had. 

He would probably have felt more comfortable lying down, but something inside him recoiled at the idea. Friedrich seemed to understand this, so he settled himself opposite Albrecht, gripping a rope next to Albrecht’s head for support as he worked his trouser button open and pulled Albrecht’s cock out into the light, running his hands up the slender length as he did so. 

They both drew a deep breath. Friedrich seemed to enjoy the feel of Albrecht in his palm, since he hardly did anything but admire the view for a good few seconds. Just as Albrecht was about to protest that he was really beginning to feel uncomfortable, Friedrich started stroking with purpose, his fist loose enough so Albrecht could feel calloused fingers dragging along his shaft. 

Friedrich’s hands were so unlike his it was almost laughable; they were bony but wide, with knuckles permanently bruised from constantly punching into things, and he didn’t possess any of the flourish that had been ingrained in Albrecht’s movements since he _could_ move. 

But that only meant that his strokes were simple and practiced, not to mention extremely efficient. That, combined with the sight of Friedrich, bathed in crimson light and enveloping his entire field of vision, biceps tensing as he moved his hand in that to-the-point way of his, was enough to drive Albrecht to the edge in less than a minute. 

Panting, he grabbed hold of Friedrich’s neck and pulled him close, as close as he could, and clung onto him. 

Albrecht came with Friedrich’s breath on his lips, with their foreheads pressed together, mouths a hair’s breadth away from another kiss.

They lay like that, pressed against each other in the corner of the ring, for what could have been the rest of the night. To Albrecht it felt both like an eternity and mere minutes, and he knew Friedrich felt it too; what they had just shared was something sacred, something that never should have happened, something they had both spent months wishing it would.

There was a faint noise, coming from outside, or upstairs. Or perhaps it was just Albrecht’s ears ringing, his body still reeling from the intensity of what he’d just done. He jolted, muscles tensing up in case the unimaginable happened, but Friedrich’s strong, limp arm wrapped itself around his shoulders tighter still, holding him down. Friedrich looked down at him, his stare calm and tired and more than a little bit sad.

“Not yet,” he muttered, nuzzling into Albrecht’s disarrayed hair, “Please.”

Albrecht sighed, giving into Friedrich’s embrace. He tried, and failed, to avoid thinking about what had happened earlier that night, before his father left. He tried to pretend he didn’t fear tomorrow, and every day after that. He tried not to think about how the roles bestowed upon him since birth threatened to swallow him whole, and how, in contrast, Friedrich seemed to handle anything life threw at him so effortlessly. 

He let all his fears wash over him, closing his eyes. _Tomorrow_ would always be there, and so would every dreadful thing that came with it. But he had never had a _today_ that felt quite like this. For the first time in his life, Albrecht felt like he was exactly where he belonged.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote 90% of this in 2015 at 7am, after a whole night of doing nothing but rewatching the boxing scene over and over and over while listening to Zayn's PILLOWTALK on repeat. I don't even write smut. Hell, I don't even write, period. But 2015!me needed something like this to exist, so here you go, 2015!me. You're welcome. And please grow your bangs out, you look ridiculous.


End file.
